


Come On, Walk For Me

by linaerys



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician)
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-08
Updated: 2010-02-08
Packaged: 2017-10-07 03:00:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/60721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/linaerys/pseuds/linaerys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It takes some time for Tommy to get what he wants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come On, Walk For Me

**Author's Note:**

> For moonmelody for help_haiti

Tommy is not keeping count. And, he swears to Mia later, when he spills it all to her, it wasn't that first kiss that did it. He said to Adam before the AMA performance, "You can, you know, if you want to grab me, or whatever—if it fits with the song—"

Even in rehearsal it had been pretty raunchy, and then it was performance time. Something happened to Adam when he performed. Not like he was someone else, not exactly, but like he was himself but more. Even bigger, louder, with charisma no one could turn away from. But it wasn't that first kiss that made Tommy stupid for Adam. Tommy can barely remember that.

He remembers more what it looked like on camera from watching later than what it felt like in the moment--a kiss that left his lips bruised blue--a kiss that knocked him off his feet. _That's_ what he'd been imagining since landing this gig, that he'd be Adam's boy on stage and it would sell more albums and make Tommy famous. And if Adam wanted something more, well—Tommy'd smiled just thinking about it—that might be alright too.

He's not keeping count of the number of times since then he's hung all over Adam in green rooms, in parties, touching skin, touching lips, brain going to mush whenever Adam's hands brush over him. And he's not keeping count of the number of times Adam failed to take him up on his unspoken offers, because that's just depressing.

He didn't have any real agenda when he started it. He liked getting his picture taken with Adam. Who knew how long this thing is going to last, but Tommy planned to make the most of it.

He likes kissing Adam. When Adam treats him like an over-friendly lapdog, that's fine. He likes the way Adam smells, the way his skin tastes, the way he feels pressed up against Tommy, sometimes hard, sometimes soft, and always hot as if he runs a higher temperature than mere humans.

And he likes it even better when Adam kisses him back. Whether he's coming on strong or just playing, Adam's attention is overwhelming. Tommy forgets about cameras, forgets about his future, and just enjoys the full spotlight of Adam's attention on him. It should be enough.

But a guy gets tired of being dismissed after a few kisses, like he's too young for the party Adam wants to throw. In a few weeks, Tommy goes from being scared Adam will fuck him senseless to feeling kind of insulted that he doesn't.

They're at some MTV party and Tommy watches sulkily as a troupe of, well, twinks, come in, and Adam looks at them like they're items on a menu. Tommy's cuter than any of them, plus, he plays bass, among many other talents. These guys probably don't have anything going for them other than a kind of slim, pretty blondness that Adam seems to like.

Tommy's got himself well situated at this party. He's draped half over Adam on the banquette. His legs are over one of Adam's and he has his arms twined around Adam's neck. He decides just then is a good time to kiss Adam's throat and maybe move some of these twinks along. He licks a stripe up Adam's neck and gives the blond boys a baleful look.

It doesn't work. The one who's actually watching just grins at Tommy like he knows exactly how far Tommy isn't getting.

Adam chooses that moment to shove Tommy off him. He doesn't do it unkindly—it's more like Tommy is a blanket he doesn't want covering him anymore. Tommy flips his hair out of his eyes and walks a few feet away to a high table with stools around it.

Mia's there, because of course she was watching the whole thing, without really watching—she's also looking at hot guys across the room that she wants a chance with. She's got that hot mess thing going on tonight that she works so well, the dirty girl with tattoos, smudged lipstick and eyeliner, but really, she's the most together person Tommy knows, except maybe Adam. And Adam's not a person Tommy knows so much as the world Tommy's been living in ever since he got the call asking him to be in the band.

Mia tucks Tommy's hair behind his ear and returns his pout with one of her own. "What's wrong Tommykins, Tommy-pooh, pretty Tommy?"

She's drunker than he thought, and realizing that makes Tommy realize he's pretty fucked up too. He puts his hand on hers and leans forward. "You know how you want to watch Adam fuck me?" Mia perks up at that. "Well, it's never gonna happen, because he doesn't. I mean he won't fuck me. He just kisses me and pats my ass and sends me away."

Mia gives him one of her crazy-wise looks. "Tommy, sweetie, I knew that."

Tommy pouts harder. "Then why—"

"I was teasing you. You fuck girls. A lot. And you seem to like it. I never thought you really—"

Tommy rolls his eyes. "Come on."

"Okay, fine, I thought you'd let Adam fuck you once, and then you'd be done with it. I'd make fun of you mercilessly, but you wouldn't really care, and you'd go back to your girls."

"Well, he hasn't, and I want him to."

Mia leans in for a kiss. "You are such a little brat. Does he know you really want it? I mean want it for real and not just play kissing for the cameras?"

"If he doesn't he's an idiot," says Tommy, still pouting. He's done everything he can.

"Tell him, you moron." She pulls her hair down into her eyes and thrusts out her lips in a way that Tommy knows is an imitation of him. "'Adam, please fuck me,'" she says breathily, then settles back into her own expression.

"What if he doesn't want to?" That's what's been terrifying him. He's not used to not being wanted. He looks just like the boys Adam does go for. There's no reason for him not to.

"You won't know unless you ask. And if he doesn't just think of the heartbreaking song you could write from it. Something with lots of country twang, like, My-Glammed-Up-Rocker-Honey-Won't-Turn-This-Straight-Boy-Gay."

"Fuck you," says Tommy, as full of affection for her as he's ever been. He looks around for Adam, but he's disappeared.

**

He doesn't quite get up the nerve to ask until after the Oprah show, when they're staying in the Drake Hotel in Chicago. Monte, who's seen every movie ever made, and is also old, says, "Damn Gideons," when they check in, and then Adam has to explain the A plot of _Mission Impossible_ to Tommy and makes him promise to watch it some time.

After the show tapes and Adam is done greeting people and signing autographs, they go back to Adam's room for drinks and room service. Tommy cuddles with Adam where they lounge on the bed, and Adam neither encourages it nor pushes Tommy off. There aren't any cameras around.

Tommy drinks enough so Mia's advice starts seeming like a good plan, sucking down at least half of the bottle of Sauvignon Blanc that Adam ordered with his dinner.

He hangs around until everyone has left. Monte gives him a look like, _you fucking kids, don't screw this up for me_, but even though Tommy can read it, he doesn't care.

"The show went good today, didn't it?" Tommy asks, pulling himself closer to Adam.

Adam gently disengages himself. His eyeliner is smudged and he's looking a little deflated—coming down from a performance high. Sometimes he's wired for hours afterward, but Tommy knows there's always a crash. It's almost as beautiful as when he's up—Adam's human like this.

"You should go to bed," says Adam. They've got an early flight back to L.A. and Adam's going to do a couple Chicago radio shows even before that.

"I'm in bed," says Tommy.

"Tommy . . ."

"What's it gonna take, huh?" Tommy asks, suddenly annoyed. This shouldn't be as hard as it is.

Adam looks at him. Tommy thinks of this face, wide open, as real Adam, except there really isn't much of a difference between stage Adam and real Adam. They're all real, and all staged. Adam is not much of an actor, but he's an artist with himself. His own soul the paintbrush. Tommy's mind takes a break from feeling nervous to make a note of that line. Could use it in a song, if he ever writes one.

"I don't fuck straight boys," says Adam mildly. "You know that."

"What about Kris?" Tommy asks.

Adam smirks. "You spend too much time on the internet."

"Like you never thought about it."

Adam leans away from him to take a sip of water. "That's not a crime."

"Yeah, well, neither is fucking me." Tommy pouts out his lower lip. He can't really believe he's saying this. Mia would be proud . . . or she'd laugh.

Real Adam is back again, now with just a hint of anger underneath his wide blue eyes. Adam is kind and sweet as a spring breeze, but he can be scary as fuck too, without even realizing it. His anger is never a put-on, and that's what makes it terrifying.

"I don't fuck straight guys because—"

"I'm not going to break your heart or something," says Tommy, realizing even as he opens his mouth that it's the wrong thing to say.

His words turn Adam smiling again, but it's still kind of scary. "No, that's not what I imagine," he says, silky and unreadable.

Tommy's already in way too deep, so he'll ask. "What do you imagine?"

"If you like it, you'll hate me, because you never really wanted to dig guys like that. And if you hate it, you'll also hate me."

Tommy doesn't know quite what to say to that, so he thrusts his chin up. "I'm not as straight as you think."

"No?"

Adam stands. God, he's tall, especially from where Tommy's still lying on the bed.

"Tell me how not straight you are," says Adam, looming over him. Tommy's fucking terrified, but suddenly his dick is hard enough to pound nails. Maybe Adam's right. This isn't how girls make him feel, not ever. He's been scared a girl would laugh at him, but that's nothing like this.

"What was it?" Adam asks, more gently, like he's genuinely curious, not just trying to make a point. "Some guy in high school--thought you were pretty. Gave you a blowjob. You liked it, because who wouldn't. But did you put a dick in your mouth?"

Tommy gets up on his knees on the bed so he can look Adam right in the eyes. "Yes."

Jared. He was pretty too, prettier than Tommy'd been then. They were the same size, one light, one dark, scared of girls but not of each other. They both forgot about it the next year, or that's what Tommy told himself.

Adam looks mildly interested. "Have you ever fucked a guy?"

Tommy's thought about it—fucking Jared, not Adam. He can't quite wrap his mind around _that_. But he shakes his head, and Adam says, "Ever been fucked? Some guy's tongue up your ass, writhing 'cause you can't believe something could ever feel that good, hoping he'll stick his finger in after, and when he does, it's nothing like you imagine, but you push back against it anyway."

Tommy's mouth goes dry, and if he thought he was hard before, it's nothing to this. He's flushing so red he _knows_ Adam can tell what this is doing to him.

"And if that's what a finger feels like," says Adam, getting closer, "you can't even imagine his dick, but you want it, want to feel him inside you when he comes." His mouth is right next to Tommy's ear when he says, "Ever felt anything like that?"

"I think so," Tommy answers breathlessly. This is it. Adam's gonna fuck him, gonna do all the things he just said and more, and Tommy's gonna come the moment Adam touches him. He turns his head to find Adam's mouth. He wraps his hands around Adam's neck, holding him there. Adam's pulse beats hard against his palm. He tongue opens Tommy's mouth wide, kissing harder than any time before, except on stage.

Adam grabs a hold of Tommy's jaw and turns his head to the side. He bites his way up Tommy's neck, leaving a trail of stinging, wet pleasure. "I'm not going to fuck you, Tommy. You're straight, and we work together." He grabs Tommy's ass. "I do like kissing you, though. Feel free to keep that up."

Tommy's still reeling when Adam guides him out the door and waves goodbye. "Goodnight, Tommy," he says. Tommy can detect a wicked note in his voice, and it's not helping. "Sweet dreams."

Well, at least Adam gave him some good jerk-off material. He was working from some nice visuals before, but Adams words painted pictures that Tommy's gonna enjoy for a long time to come. So to speak.

**

He doesn't stop trying though. He should be embarrassed, but he doesn't have room for that when the images Adam painted still linger, bright-edged in his mind.

Instead he gets bolder. They're curled up together in another lounge, this time somewhere in L.A., and Tommy kisses Adam's neck again, and when he gets to his ear he whispers, "Just let me suck you off. I want to know what that's like." Adam's hand tightens on Tommy's thigh, maybe in warning, but Tommy's done being scared. _Adam's_ just as scared, he knows, if for totally different reasons.

"This isn't work, it's rock and roll," Tommy adds. He sneaks a peek and sees Adam grinning at that. Adam starts kissing him back, maybe just to shut him up, but it's a good kiss, one that Tommy loses himself in as he pulls himself hard against Adam, as if he could crawl inside Adam's skin.

"You're dangerous," says Adam, with a hint of breathlessness.

"Not as much as you," Tommy replies.

Adam extricates himself then, but he's more than half hard when he stands up, and Tommy counts this one a win.

The next time is in a club in New York, the Taj Mahal in Chelsea. It's more crowded than L.A. The dance floor is ringed with cabana-like tables, room enough for Tommy to lie down fully, though Adam's too tall to stretch out like that.

He climbs up on Adam's lap and kisses him, but then one of the girls they're with pulls him out to dance, and Tommy follows. He grabs her and kisses her too, because he wants to be kissing someone, and tonight, just maybe, he'll choose the girl and take her back to the hotel and fuck her instead of hoping that he's finally going to get lucky with Adam.

He still glances back. Adam's surrounded by more girls—they love him even more than they love Tommy—but he catches Adam looking at him, and smiles.

He can't let that pass, so he comes back to Adam's side when the song slides into the next one. "I saw you watching me," he says.

Adam makes as if to brush his bangs out of his face, then realizes his hair is in a giant pompadour tonight and settles for patting it to make sure it's in place. "So?" he says playfully.

"So," says Tommy, "you want me, and you're going to have me. I know it." He wiggles his hips at Adam. "Tonight?"

"We'll see," says Adam.

A bunch of them stumble back to the Ganesvoort for more drinks and some desultory dancing, and then an even smaller group makes it to Adam's hotel room. Finally, near three AM, Adam kicks everyone out. He's got Tommy almost at the door when Tommy turns back around and pulls Adam down to kiss him. Tommy's doing all the work here, opening Adam's mouth with his tongue, plastering himself all over Adam, but then he breaks off.

"Fuck it," he says wearily. "I'll find some other guy to fuck me."

He doesn't mean anything by it, he's just tired. He's running on habit, not hope, with Adam, and it's too late, and he's too drunk to try anymore. He turns to go, when Adam takes his hand, and brings it up to his lips.

"Stay," he says. The command wakes Tommy up again. He's not drunk; the room is sharp edged and clear.

Adam pulls Tommy in for a kiss. This is the first time it hasn't been for show, or making some kind of point. This is kissing for the sake of kissing, kissing to make Tommy's knees buckle, kissing to make him want to climb Adam like a tree and wriggle into his clothes.

Adam has the same thought, because he's tugging at Tommy's shirt. Tommy lets Adam draw it over his head. Tommy undoes the buttons on Adam's jacket and snakes his hands inside. Adam's hands wander over Tommy's skin. He's still got his gloves on, but the leather is skin-hot, soft and sinful.

Tommy remembers Adam's question—_did you suck him off?_—an d he's not going to let give Adam a moment to wonder if he's anything less than eager for this. He undoes Adam's belt and slides his hands over the soft skin of Adam's waist and thighs.

"I want to . . ." he says, sinking to his knees. Adam sits down on the bed and Tommy pulls him out. Brave words aside, he hasn't been this close to a dick not his own since high school, and this is _Adam_.

_No hesitation,_ Tommy tells himself. He slides his mouth around the tip. It's hot and salty. He gets a little more of it in his mouth. Adam makes a noise and wraps his hand gently around the back of Tommy's neck, and suddenly Tommy's rock hard. He can _see_ this as if he's watching from above, Adam guiding him right where he's meant to be.

He's feels lost, but somehow still totally in control. It's Adam who's stroking the hair on the nape of his neck in some broken rhythm, Adam whose muscles are tensing under Tommy's hand, as his dick pulses between Tommy's lips. Tommy can't get enough of those sounds, the way Adam's dick stretches out his lips, the salty pre-come leaking from the tip.

"I'm coming," says Adam, bringing Tommy out of his reverie, and Tommy gets out of the way so he can watch Adam rub those last few strokes with his own hand and spurt onto the bedspread.

"I guess you did want to," says Adam archly, after he's stopped breathing so hard. He hauls Tommy up onto the bed as if he weighs nothing, and pounces on top of him.

Tommy's scared again, but he can hardly feel it under this feverish wanting. He strokes his hands up under Adam's shirt. Adam pulls away for a moment to take off his jacket and the slim-cut white shirt underneath, and Tommy moans, wanting Adam's skin under his hands again. Then he's there again, pale and just a little soft in a way that Tommy finds hotter than if he'd been some kind of muscley god.

He feels like if Adam so much as touches his dick, he's going to come and never stop, but that doesn't keep him from arching up to rub against Adam's thigh. Adam breaks off mid kiss and sits up, straddling Tommy, holding his hips down so Tommy's dick is touching nothing more than the tight fabric of his pants.

"Slow down," says Adam, and Tommy stops moving. He feels like he could obey anything Adam told him to do: jump, fly, walk on air, don't come even though I'm on top of you.

Adam pulls down Tommy's pants. He doesn't wear anything underneath, and he sees Adam smiling happily at that. _Yeah, think about that next time we're performing,_ Tommy thinks.

Adam loops a thumb and forefinger around Tommy's dick and it jumps in his hand, as eager for Adam's mouth as it's ever been for anything.

Ah, God, and Adam's mouth is amazing, hot and expert. He's riding Tommy to the edge and keeping him there, stuck in that moment of agonizing anticipation. Tommy hardly even notices Adam working his hand behind Tommy's balls until a wet finger is gently circling his hole. He's not pressing in, not even threatening it, but suddenly that's all Tommy can feel, that delicate sensation trumping the throbbing of his dick.

"Please," he hears himself saying.

"Please what?" Adam asks, leaving Tommy's dick to cool for a moment against his chin.

"Please put your finger in me," Tommy begs. "Please, please, please."

He slides his mouth over Tommy again, and this time his finger is more insistent, pressing, testing. He sucks at Tommy gently, and then Tommy opens and Adam's finger slides in. Tommy jumps at the sensation, but the surprise is lost in the feeling from both ends, Adam's mouth on him, hot and hard, his finger pressing Tommy from the other side, until the two meet in a shower of sparks, and Tommy yells that he's coming and Adam's hand wraps around him, holding him while he spends.

"Holy fuck," says Tommy while Adam pulls his finger out. He doesn't know how to feel or what to think, just that his world exploded and it was too much and not enough. And he's drunk and tired.

Adam comes back to bed and he can barely keep his eyes open. It's late, so late that the sun will be coming up soon. "Can I sleep here?" Tommy asks.

Adam murmurs his assent. Tommy curls up next to him, toes brushing Adam's thighs, head butted against Adam's chest. "Thank you," he says in a small voice. He wanted this so badly, he almost wants to cry now that he finally got it, in relief, and worry that it won't happen again.

"Next time will you fuck me?" he asks, even though he can still feel the pressure where Adam's finger was, and he has no idea if he'd actually enjoy Adam's dick in him. He wants this again, and again, and again. And this is _Adam_—Tommy's sure he could make Tommy want that as well.

"Maybe," says Adam sleepily. "If you ask"—he yawns hugely—"very nicely."

"I will," says Tommy. He falls asleep, basking in the heat from Adam's body.


End file.
